Eliot the Lover
by Soquilii
Summary: NC17 ADULTS ONLY! Eliot Spencer seems to excel in everything he does. Since he's such a womanizer I've often wondered how he would be in bed. Here's an idea of what he might be like.


Eliot the Lover

NC17

_Eliot Spencer seems to excel in everything he does. Since he's such a womanizer I've often wondered how he would be in bed. Here's what he might be like._

I'm propped up on pillows, in her house, in her bed, waiting. Naked; clean from head to toe; teeth brushed, cologne applied - the kind she likes. She once told me just a whiff gets her excited. One red rose in a vase and a couple of cold beers. Good thing she likes beer. I like to taste it on her breath. I never was the champagne kind of guy.

I _am_ the kind of guy who loves women. The one I'm with now - well, she's special.

That makes tonight special. We've planned this for weeks; I finally get a break from Leverage, Inc.; I don't even need an icepack, and she's on a long layover. The blinds are closed against what's left of the evening sun. I don't mind the light; I could make love under Klieg lights but she prefers it dark; not pitch black, just the softest level of light. Maybe she thinks it makes me prettier; she doesn't need such a crutch.

I hear her in the downstairs hall. By now she's found my note. Here she comes, up the stairs, into the hall bathroom to freshen up. She's a flight attendant so she shouldn't be all that grungy from a day at work; hell, I'd take her right now, but I want this to be special.

The shower runs. In my imagination she's taking everything off. I've watched her do this before, but imagining it is even hotter. By now her long black hair is streaming over her shoulders; the water coursing down her body, flowing over where my hands will soon be.

I flick on the TV and channel-surf impatiently, but nothing captures my interest. I flick it off and toss the remote where it may never be found. My mind is filled with thoughts of her and what I can do with her and what she will do for me. Besides, the news is irritating.

The shower stops. Now the hair dryer starts up. I'm getting antsy but I know she will dry that luscious, long hair first. It's gonna smell heavenly. _Hurry up_...no, go slow and make it special…dammit, my body says one thing and my mind the other.

She enters the room like a queen, startling me out of my reverie, wearing the lingerie I designed for her. Modest, romantic, soft colors that set off her complexion. Just enough coverage; my mind sees more when I can see less. I hate thongs and such things; they make romance vulgar.

She floats in and sits beside me on the bed.

Smiling, I hand her a beer; she sips it delicately while she admires the rose. We talk a little about her day and about mine. Although I don't need an icepack like I said, I still have a few minor scrapes; a retrieval specialist can't go completely unscathed. They're of no consequence. She says I remind her of a pirate; to her my scars are sexy. _Huh_.

Her flight came in from Phoenix to Portland. Since she's dark with black hair, she said everyone asked her if she was an Indian. She laughed and said, no, she was Irish. With a tan. And what a tan, I say, lifting a strap with my finger – no tan lines. Glowing, flawless. Perfection.

I'm glad you like it, she says.

Cold beer loosens both of us up – hers is a stressful job and mine…well, you know mine.

She initiates. I love that about a woman. I don't always like to make the first move. She starts off slowly, running her fingers through my hair. The brown crown brushes just past my shoulders, all the same length, and although it irritates me sometimes when it flies in my face during a fight, I like it this way and so does she. When she weaves her fingers in it, a chill runs over me, both exciting and relaxing at the same time. I close my eyes.

I feel her lips on mine, softly, softly. I return the kiss just as softly, and for a few minutes we take it very, very slowly. My heart rate begins climbing; judging from the pulse in her neck, hers does too. We're on the same page; our kisses slowly become deeper, longer, and our hands communicate our intentions. Damn, just a simple kiss can be the whole act sometimes. But I want more, and so does she.

She stretches out beside me. We both take a minute to relax. Her lips leave mine to explore my face, nuzzle my ear, sprinkle soft kisses on my neck. She breathes in my scent and I hers. Pear glace. Mmmmm. Her hands are on my chest now, slowly pushing the sheet down; her lips grazing, her tongue teasing, trailing down my belly; I wince in anticipation. Her abundant, soft, clean hair falls like a curtain behind which I cannot watch what she does as she ministers to me. To feel it instead of seeing is far more exciting. Other men might not think so, but this is me. Her small hands are warm between my thighs, the soft wetness of her tongue is working its magic…and I am suddenly enveloped in warm wetness, the suction of which is exquisite. It wrenches a groan from my throat, an involuntary shudder followed by more groans; this feeling is like nothing else on earth. I'm all at once in love, excited, grateful, desperate, crazy.

She stops just short of stimulating me past the point of no return; she's exceptionally skilled in that way. She reverses her course back up my body and we relax a moment in each other's arms. We kiss and fondle. We don't like to do the sixty-nine as it's vulgarly called; we prefer to concentrate on each other one at a time. The other way is distracting.

The sheet twists around me as I turn the tables and roll her beneath me. She is still fully dressed – if you can call lingerie fully dressed - but her lacy bra embraces her and the rest of the soft fabric falls down her body past panties exquisite in their design. So feminine. So I leave the bra on and kiss as much as I can reach. I push the fabric away from her belly and gently tug the panties downward. My lips follow my hands. Her intake of breath tells me I'm doing it right, and I take my time slowing sliding them on down past her knees and off. No more barrier. It's all mine. I slide my arms beneath her legs, pushing them away from each other, allowing room for my shoulders. Encircling her thighs, my hands are free to caress whatever I can reach. Her musky scent reaches my nostrils, exciting me even more. I give to her as she has given to me. Her back arches and every muscle tenses…again and again. I so envy women their ability to reach the heights so many times! Men, most of us, make the basket only once, so we must be careful and not overshoot. But it is our pleasure to give more than we get, and I'm giving to her now. I read her reactions like a book and know just where to go to please her. I'm rewarded with vocalizations of ecstasy. Three, four, five times I have this power over her. She's totally in my control.

I want more now and she's getting desperate. Slipping a hand beneath her back, I flick the bra loose and fling it away. Lifting myself up, I know those beautiful objects are now mine, and I do homage with mouth and hands while my legs keep hers from closing, not that she wants them to. I come up on my elbows, taking some of my weight off her but trapping her beneath me. Her fingers are tangled in my hair, yanking a little, but it doesn't hurt. Now that my lips are level with hers again; her hands travel down my back, pressing, communicating her desire. I know it's time; I just hoped to prolong it a little while longer. It's been a while for both of us - I guess it just isn't in the cards this time. She's beneath me, quivering in her need. Her eyes bore right into mine. That's what's best; when it's me and not some fantasy man a woman sometimes manufactures in her head. This girl has never been that type. I've been with the other type and it isn't pleasant. Everyone needs to feel needed…wanted…appreciated. This girl wants _me.._.so my gaze meets hers and we lock stares while I maneuver my way in. Slowly. I don't let her have much to begin with. Just a little, then back, then a little more, then back again. When I'm sure she's ready, I gently complete it. She gasps. She's forgotten, since last time, that I'm bigger than a guy under six feet would normally be. I grin at her. We begin our slow dance; the motion of the ocean as it's called; and our breaths mingle together in rhythm. My techniques are many; learned over many years all over the world with scores of women; she reaps the benefit of them now. Our lips again mimic what's going on south of the border and it heightens the experience beyond all measure. I feel her tighten around me. It's time; I can let the hammer down. Our efforts become harder and faster until we both explode, simultaneously, the ultimate best it can ever get. I don't have to wait, I can journey right along with her. Waiting is sometimes an agony. I love a woman who can keep up. In our final moment we strain against each other; she makes me feel like I could fall into her and never come out.

Then, disappointingly, it's over.

This is one part of this life I wish could go on forever, not realistic in the slightest, but understandable.

We lie beside each other as heartbeats and respiration normalize. Takes a few minutes. How can something feel so exquisitely wonderful yet so physically draining all at the same time?

We prop ourselves on pillows. I'm glad to see her modestly cover herself with a sheet; she pulls a corner of it over me. I reach down into the cooler and pop open another couple of beers. The combination of her taste and cold beer in my mouth is at once musky, bitter, cold and so satisfying.

I sigh contentedly. And no, I don't reach for a cigarette and neither does she, it's a dumb habit that could ruin my lungs. Ever seen a hitter who smoked? They don't last long in a fight. I outlast 'em every time.

Haltingly, still trying to catch her breath, she tells me it...was...amazing.

_You're_ amazing, I whisper. And so very beautiful. I kiss her forehead, graze her lips with mine, and kiss the tip of her nose.

We smile at each other.

Let's go to dinner, I suggest.

She wants to shower together first.

Damn. This may be an all-night special, after all.


End file.
